BOOK 2
Trapped within the iron grip of the notorious Morroto family, Veronica Garcia's fate hangs precariously in the balance. Days bleed into nights in the suffocating darkness of her prison, where despair threatens to consume her spirit. Each pass...
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IN THE EERIE silence, the only sound that breaks through is the soft, shallow breaths just in front of me. Each exhale is barely audible, a faint whisper in the stillness that surrounds us. It's as if the world has come to a standstill, and all that exists in this moment is the rhythmic inhaling and exhaling of breath. The air feels heavy with tension, every sound amplified in the quietness that envelops us. Each breath is a reminder of the presence so close yet shrouded in darkness, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.
The room is consumed by silence, broken only by the faint echo of my footsteps against the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. Each step reverberates through the empty space, a stark reminder of the desolation that surrounds us. In front of me sits the spy, his presence barely discernible in the dim light, his breaths shallow and sporadic. He inhales quietly whenever the opportunity presents itself, each breath a desperate attempt to maintain composure in the face of uncertainty. The sound of his breathing is a stark contrast to the hollowness of the room, a small but tangible sign of life amidst the emptiness.
I lean down, my breath catching in my throat as I see the spy looking downwards, his gaze fixed on his lap. With a heavy sigh, I reach for the small blade nearby, the cold metal sending shivers down my spine as I grip it tightly in my hand. Stepping forward, I close the distance between us once more, my heart pounding in my chest. With a swift motion, I grab his jaw harshly, forcing him to meet my gaze.
"Talk," I hiss through gritted teeth, my voice laced with anger and frustration. The intensity of my emotions spills over into every word, the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment.
He remains defiant, his lips sealed shut as if welded together by some unseen force. Anger consumes me like a wildfire, burning away any semblance of mercy or restraint. With a low, guttural snarl, I bring the blade down, the metal singing as it slices through the air.
Blood explodes from the wound, a crimson geyser that paints the room in a grotesque tapestry of violence. It splatters across his face in a macabre dance, mingling with his screams of agony as they echo off the walls, a symphony of pain and terror.
His finger lies on the ground, a gruesome trophy of my wrath, a testament to the depths of my fury. But still, his resolve remains unbroken, his defiance unyielding even in the face of such brutal punishment. And in that moment, I realise that I must go further, push harder, break him completely.
But for now, as the stench of blood fills the air and the echoes of his screams reverberate through the room, I stand over him, my chest heaving with exertion.
"You can make this easy on yourself," I said, my tone dripping with malice, the words oozing like poison from my lips. "Or you can make it hard. It's up to you." My voice echoed in the dimly lit room, each syllable a menacing promise of the agony to come.
